


Something To Talk About

by verhalen



Series: Seeds of Fire [15]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), Flameborn Omegaverse, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha Fingolfin, Alternate Universe, Biting, Blood Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Hair-pulling, Incest, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Fëanor, Omega Verse, Rough Sex, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: In which Fëanor pulls a sword on his brother Fingolfin.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë
Series: Seeds of Fire [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1418458
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Something To Talk About

As Amrod and Amras grew, Fëanor found himself increasingly troubled. He wanted better for his sons than the sort of life he and his brothers had been forced into, living a lie... and his older sons as well, cringing at the news that Maglor was courting a wife, knowing Maglor was not interested in women at all. He wanted a better world for his sons. He wanted a better world for _himself_. He was tired of the Laws.  
  
And he was tired of holding his tongue for the sake of his reputation, and that of his family. When the twins had a fortieth birthday celebration, Fëanor got into his cups, and the wine washed away what was left of his reserve. Fëanor interrupted Maglor's harp music, standing up on the table. When all eyes were on him he cleared his throat loudly and announced, "We celebrate life today... and yet, we are not truly living. We are as thralls. I would like to leave Valinor, go back to where our people originally came from... and beyond. If you would follow me, we could live free, without the yoke of the Valar upon us."  
  
Amrod and Amras turned as red as their hair, but they applauded their oma's speech, while Nerdanel was stony-faced.  
  
Unfortunately, many present at the celebration seemed to share Nerdanel's distaste for Fëanor's speech. And soon, tongues began to wag. It was said that Fëanor was mad - something that had been said behind closed doors for a long time, but now was said more boldly and openly. Even worse than that, his character was called into question. It was finally brought up before Finwë himself.  
  
"Of course he would say the rede of the Valar is as thralldom... he is a pervert," said one lord.  
  
"Indeed," said another. "Celegorm has neither black hair like Fëanor, nor red hair like Nerdanel... he is blond, like Finarfin."  
  
"And Finarfin's youngest, Orodreth... Fëanor spends a lot of time with the child, as much as he has spent with his other children, and he is even consulted on matters of raising him... he was not consulted in this manner for Finarfin's other children. Do you not think it is very strange that Fëanor accompanied Finarfin and the lady Eärwen on a 'devotional retreat' for a year and they returned with child? That is another bastard Finarfin sired on Fëanor."  
  
Finwë had suspected his sons were having sinful relations with each other for some time now... much as he had once sinned with his own brother, before he came to the light of the Valar in Aman. But it was one thing for Finwë to have a suspicion, and think he might just be paranoid, and another thing for his own lords to see it too.  
  
Of course, there were people in the court who defended Fëanor, and even agreed with him, that it was time they left Valinor, that the Valar were not the helpful, benevolent gods they claimed to be. This disagreement led to bitter arguing, even threats of violence.  
  
Such unrest caught the attention of the Valar themselves, who implored Finwë to hold a formal investigation.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Something told Fëanor, when he received the invitation to the "dinner party", that it was not a simple social call. Things had been strained between him and his father for as long as he could remember. Meanwhile, he was getting strange looks when he ventured outside the forge, and the timing of it being so soon after his speech at his twins' birthday celebration was not lost on him.  
  
Fëanor's apprehension intensified when he was roused from a sound sleep, told there was an urgent visitor in the middle of the night. That visitor was his brother Fingolfin, wearing a heavy hood and cloak as not to be recognized.  
  
"Did you receive an invitation from our father to dinner?" Fingolfin asked.  
  
"I did," Fëanor said.  
  
"That was what I was afraid of. He lied and told me you had not been invited." Fingolfin shook his head.  
  
Fëanor pursed his lips, ice in the pit of his stomach. The rest of him seethed with hot anger - his father, the pious servant of the Valar, was a liar, which made him a hypocrite. But then, Finwë had forced the entire family into lies. "That bodes ill."  
  
"Indeed." Fingolfin folded his arms. "I have no doubt this has to do with the speech you made at Amrod and Amras's birthday -"  
  
"I would make it again," Fëanor said. "I spoke the truth. We do not need this nonsense in our lives anymore."  
  
"And I have heard," Fingolfin went on, "that there are some who... are saying that Celegorm is Finarfin's. And that Orodreth was birthed by you and not his wife, and that is why you went with Finarfin and Eärwen on a retreat for a year. I was not at the meeting where these accusations were made, but as you know, word travels. And we know it is true... but the world cannot know it is true. Nonetheless, they are very close to knowing for certain."  
  
Hysteria rose in Fëanor, realizing the full implications - that Finwë had told Fingolfin that Fëanor was not invited, perhaps hoping that, before Fëanor's arrival, he could "have a word" with Fingolfin and try to poison Fingolfin's mind against him. And then Fëanor would arrive and see it, and be angry. "He is trying to tear us apart, Ñolo. _They_ are trying to tear us apart. They mean to take you away from me -" Whether by hatred or by imprisonment. Fëanor felt sick.  
  
Fingolfin took Fëanor's hands, squeezing them, and then he drew Fëanor into his arms, holding him tight. Fëanor breathed in Fingolfin's Alpha scent, and there was relief... and then the anxiety came over him again and Fëanor fell apart, weeping on his brother's shoulder.  
  
"Listen to me," Fingolfin said, picking up Fëanor's chin, looking him in the eye. "Nothing will take you from me. _Nothing_ will come between us. I _shan't_ allow it."  
  
"How?" Fëanor was ashamed of how helpless he felt right now.  
  
"Take some deep breaths." Fingolfin demonstrated, taking deep breaths of his own. Fëanor breathed with him, and Fingolfin began to wipe Fëanor's tears. When Fëanor was calmer, Fingolfin said, "You have a brilliant mind. I am sure between the two of us, we can think of something."  
  
"We had better think fast," Fëanor said.  
  
Fingolfin's arms were around him again, and they pressed their foreheads together, breathing each other's breath. Once again, Fëanor could smell his Alpha's scent, soothing and arousing him all at once. He closed his eyes and let that scent take him to his happy place. To his forest...  
  
Now Fëanor's mind's eye showed him a memory, of Finarfin and Fingolfin sparring at Finarfin's coming of age celebration. The sexual tension between them as they fought, two Alphas competing for dominance, which was delicious to Fëanor. Finwë seemed to know something was "wrong", because he interrupted the three brothers spending time together, before it could go there. _"Arafinwë, I think you have been around Fëanor enough for one day."_  
  
And Finarfin had appeased their father by replying, _"Yes, you are right. He is a bit much."_  
  
Feanor had been stung, even though he'd known at the time Finarfin was just acting, and he'd shot back with, _"You may be a man now, but you have no fire in you. You are just a wilting flower."_  
  
That night Finarfin had proven Fëanor very, very wrong. Fëanor's cock stirred at the memory.  
  
Fëanor opened his eyes and touched Fingolfin's face, returning to the here and now. "We must pretend we hate each other," Fëanor said. "If they are accusing us of incest, we will make them think there is no way we could ever touch each other... so that way they cannot throw us into prison, or worse..."  
  
"I hate lying about it, but we cannot fight them. They are gods. We are not."  
  
Fëanor thought of the Silmarils, and their energy. _Not yet._ "We can flee, and there we can live openly... and perhaps with time, and not feeling so defeated, so repressed, we can gain enough strength to challenge their rule and free the rest of our people. But until then..." Fëanor grabbed Fingolfin's face and kissed him hard. "I hate this, but we will do what we have to do."  
  
"I love you, Fëanor. I would die for you." Fingolfin took Fëanor's hand, kissed it, and placed it against his heart. "Know that whatever words I speak against you, they are not the truth."  
  
Fëanor kissed Fingolfin's brow. "I know."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Now before any of Finwë's lords could speak, once again repeating the accusations that had been made previously, Fingolfin rose, and the court deferred to a royal son, letting him speak.  
  
Fingolfin steeled himself, though inside he was shaking, hating every moment of this, the greatest lie he had ever told, even more than the lie of the vows to Anairë, that neither he nor she had any intent of honoring. He could not bear to speak against his brother, and yet he knew the alternative was far, far worse.  
  
"I have heard of the unrest," Fingolfin said. "King and father, will you not restrain our brother's pride? As you know, Curufinwë is called the Spirit of Fire... all too truly. By what right does he speak for all our people, as if he himself is our King? As you know, _you_ were the one who long ago spoke before the Quendi, urging them to accept the summons of the holy Valar to Aman. And as you know, it was _you_ who led the Noldor down that long road, through the perils of Middle-Earth, to the light of Eldamar. You _shan't_ go back on this, Father. You have at least two sons who will honor your words -"  
  
Fëanor charged into the hall, dressed not for a dinner party but for battle, right down to a plumed helmet on his head, a breastplate... bearing a sword.  
  
Fingolfin's breath caught. Fëanor looked magnificent - delicious - all the moreso for the rage in his eyes. Rage that he knew was directed at Finwë's gossiping lords, the Valar themselves... but it still sent a shiver through Fingolfin anyway.  
  
"So it is, just as I had guessed," Fëanor snarled. "My half-brother would be before me with my father, in this as in all other matters." Now Fëanor drew his sword, pointing it at Fingolfin's throat. "Get you gone, and take your due place!"  
  
Fingolfin bowed before Finwë, and he went from the hall without another word, not looking back. But Fëanor followed him, and just before Fingolfin could step outside the door, Fëanor grabbed him... and with his other hand, the point of his sword was at Fingolfin's heart. "See, _half-brother_ ," he sneered. " _This_? Right here? Is sharper than your tongue. Try it _again_ , you filthy, usurping _bastard_ , and maybe the Noldor will be rid of one who seeks to be the master of thralls."  
  
A frisson went through Fingolfin. Though to the onlookers - and there were many - they were words of hatred, of scorn, Fingolfin thought Fëanor looked even more delicious when he was angry like this, as if this was when his inner fire burned the most brightly. Standing as close as they were, Fingolfin could smell that Fëanor was just as aroused as he was. Fingolfin thought about drawing his own sword and challenging Fëanor to a duel, remembering how erotic their sparring sessions were, but he knew that would increase their arousal, making it impossible to hide... and it would be too tempting to take him right there.  
  
So Fingolfin just left, and passed through the throng of onlookers in silence, to find Finarfin. As aroused as he felt by this game they were playing, he still hated the words they had spoken, the _necessity_ of it. It felt like the entire world was on fire now, and just being close to Finarfin would be the comfort he needed.  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
Fëanor was brought before Manwë. He was asked many questions, and some of them he answered truthfully, and others - including the question of incest - he lied about. He had been practicing the art of ósanwe enough to know how to shield his mind, as well as open it, and he was confident that even against the all-seeing eyes of a god, there were parts of his mind that could be closed off and not be known.  
  
It happened that Fëanor was not charged with incest, or the crime of sodomy, for his use of ósanwe to conceal those matters had been successful, and his ruse of hating his brothers had been convincing. It was, indeed, too convincing, for now he was found guilty of breaking the peace of Valinor, drawing his sword on his own brother.  
  
Manwë's voice rang out:  
  
 _Thou speakest of thralldom. If thralldom it be, thou canst not escape it; for Manwë is King of Arda, and not of Aman only. And this deed was unlawful, whether in Aman or not in Aman. Therefore this doom is now made: for twelve years thou shall leave Tirion where this threat was uttered. In that time take counsel with thyself, and remember who and what thou art. But after that time this matter shall be set in peace and held redressed, if others will release thee._  
  
"I will release my brother," Fingolfin said.  
  
Fëanor spoke nothing, remaining in silence. He had already said enough; he would not grovel before these _tyrants_. He turned and left.  
  
Fëanor's urge to leave Aman was even stronger now, but he also knew that if he attempted it at present, the Valar were prepared to enforce the doom. He would have to be content with leaving Tirion, and indeed, he would rather be in Formenos. What bothered him about it was the length of time he'd be required to stay there... the long separation from his brothers.  
  
He was given a few days to gather the household's belongings, as the Valar wanted to appear merciful and not push him into the woods with nothing. Fëanor went back to the palace with a mixture of relief and dread. Even after having a long, hot bath to relax, he lay awake that night, alone in his chambers - he and Nerdanel had not shared a bed for some time - and so he was not woken up when a servant came in the middle of the night to tell him there was a messenger, waiting in the garden.  
  
That messenger was once again Fingolfin in disguise. Fëanor bade his servants leave them alone, and once he was absolutely sure they were alone he quickly cast an enchantment of silence, to ensure they would not be overheard. As soon as Fingolfin took down his hood, Fëanor threw his arms around his brother, overcome with love so fierce his heart could break. "Ñolo. Ai, Ñolo. My love -"  
  
Fingolfin grabbed Fëanor by the hair and kissed him roughly. Fëanor's cock hardened, and he felt himself go slick, aching to be filled, claimed by his Alpha. Fëanor trembled against Fingolfin, kissing him back with all the fire of his being, wanting Fingolfin to feel in the kiss how much those words spoken in their father's hall meant nothing, and how much Fingolfin and Finarfin were everything...  
  
...The tip of Fingolfin's sword was against his heart now, as surely as his own sword had been at Fingolfin's throat, and heart, earlier that day. Fëanor swallowed hard, and looked his brother-lover in the eye. Fingolfin's scent was as strong as Fëanor had ever smelled it, almost overpowering... intoxicating.  
  
The blade cut Fëanor's robe, the cloth falling to the ground, exposing Fëanor's naked body... freeing Fëanor's hard cock. Fëanor's slick was dripping now, his passage twitching, needing Fingolfin's cock inside him. Fëanor wanted to present, wanted to get down on all fours right there in the grass and show Fingolfin how slick he was, get into position to be mounted...  
  
Now Fingolfin was grabbing his hair again, kissing him, with the tip of his sword against Fëanor's throat. Fingolfin could kill him so easily, so quickly... and Fëanor trusted him not to. And that, too, was intoxicating - the ultimate surrender, yielding to his Alpha, putting his life in his Alpha's hands and trusting, knowing, that Fingolfin would never, ever hurt him.  
  
Fëanor looked into Fingolfin's star-blue eyes, the fire calling to his fire. Fëanor reached up to hold Fingolfin's face in his hands. "I trust you with my life. I know you will not spill my blood..."  
  
"Not that way, anyway." Fingolfin threw his sword down and then he bit Fëanor's neck, making Fëanor cry out, shuddering against him, cock jolting. More slick pooled out of him. Fëanor clutched at Fingolfin, needing, wanting so badly...  
  
Fingolfin laughed as he licked the blood that flowed from where his teeth had been, laughing again at the way Fëanor moaned and shivered, knowing how sensitive Fëanor's neck was. " _This_ way is more satisfying," Fingolfin husked, and licked at the bite some more, kissed it. Fëanor whimpered, going out of his mind with lust.  
  
"Please, Ñolo. Take me. Fuck me. Make me yours."  
  
Fingolfin began to undress. Fëanor helped him out of his clothes, not able to resist caressing each bit of flesh as it was exposed, needing to feel Fingolfin's lean, muscular body, the exquisite sculptured definition of him... the power. So male. It seemed to Fëanor that Fingolfin was even more glorious than the gods themselves.  
  
Once they were both nude, Fingolfin pulled Fëanor back to him, their hard cocks rubbing together as they kissed. Fingolfin pushed Fëanor back into the grass, climbing atop him, and Fëanor moaned as their mouths met again, as hard cock rubbed hard cock, as slick pooled from Fëanor's channel to soak the ground below.  
  
"Please," Fëanor begged. " _Please._ Fuck me. Take me now. I _need_ -"  
  
Fingolfin's thumb brushed a nipple, and Fingolfin smiled as he watched the nub harden and swell. "In time." He licked Fëanor's neck again. "I think I ought to demonstrate to you just how lethal of a weapon my tongue can be, Fëanáro."  
  
With that, Fingolfin's tongue began to lash the nipple his thumb had just coaxed to hardness. Fëanor grabbed Fingolfin's hair, moaning, panting, arching to him. Fingolfin suckled the aching peak, and then his tongue stroked more gently, before suckling harder. He turned to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, his thumb playing with the nipple where his mouth had just been. Back and forth he went between Fëanor's pierced nipples, licking, sucking, nibbling, tugging on the rings with his teeth, until Fëanor was writhing in the grass, practically sobbing. The way Fingolfin teased his nipples felt so good and Fëanor didn't want him to stop, but he needed, _craved_ , that fuck.  
  
Fingolfin was taking his sweet time. He licked his way down Fëanor's chest, licking at the definition in Fëanor's stomach, nibbling here and there. Fingolfin licked around and around the head of Fëanor's cock, then up and down the shaft, eyes locked with Fëanor's, taking in every gasp and moan and shiver. Fingolfin sucked on the head of Fëanor's cock as his hand rubbed the shaft, and then Fingolfin just licked at it again, tongue moving even more slowly than before. At last, Fingolfin licked around and around Fëanor's passage. "You are so, so very wet, my brother," Fingolfin whispered. "As you know."  
  
"Damn you..."  
  
Fingolfin laughed, just before his tongue plunged inside. Fëanor heard himself moaning louder and louder, finally howling, keening, as Fingolfin's tongue fucked him. Fingolfin's tongue rubbed fast and furious, Fingolfin shaking his head as his tongue lashed away, viciously devouring him. Before Fëanor could come just from his brother's tongue, Fingolfin pulled his head back and Fëanor could see the slick glistening on his brother's lips and chin... the heat in those eyes, like blue flame. "You taste delicious," Fingolfin rasped. He licked his lips, letting Fëanor see his enjoyment, and then he dove back down for more, burying his face in him, licking more slowly this time. Fëanor bucked, grabbing Fingolfin's hair, whimpering. When Fingolfin's tongue sped up again, Fëanor's hips rocked, fucking himself on that tongue, getting closer and closer.  
  
Fingolfin once again stopped before Fëanor could come. His tongue swirled around the head of Fëanor's cock again, lapping up the precum that flowed. He slid up Fëanor's body, kissing him as the tip of his cock pressed against Fëanor's opening.  
  
"Take me," Fëanor growled. "Take me fucking _now_ -"  
  
Fingolfin silenced him with a kiss, and his own growl as he pushed inside. They both cried out into the kiss when Fingolfin was all the way in.  
  
Fingolfin's hands grabbed Fëanor's wrists, pinning him. He started biting Fëanor's neck again, and his shoulder, and his chest. Fëanor loved that, rolling his hips back at Fingolfin's, urging him on faster. "Yes, yes, I'm yours, Ñolo, yours, take it..."  
  
"I do know my due place, brother." Their eyes locked once more. "Right here, inside you. One flesh."  
  
Tears came to Fëanor's eyes, moved by those words. They kissed again. Fingolfin let go of Fëanor's wrists and Fëanor's arms wrapped around him, and a moment later Fëanor wrapped his legs around Fingolfin's waist as well, holding Fingolfin with all of him as Fingolfin slammed into him harder and harder, driving away all doubt, all fear, until it was just them that existed, their passion, their need for each other.  
  
Their scent, Alpha and Omega, mating, rutting. It was so very right to be claimed out here in the grass like this, their sex a part of nature too. It seemed to Fëanor that this was more natural than the Laws that would keep them apart, that the Laws were the true perversion.  
  
"I cannot be without you for twelve years," Fëanor said.  
  
"You won't be. I will come to visit you, disguised as I did tonight. Ara will as well. We will find a way. _Our love_ will find a way." Fingolfin kissed him again. "We will not let them win, my love."  
  
"They are the usurpers." Fëanor stroked Fingolfin's face, his touch tender.  
  
Then Fëanor grabbed a fistful of Fingolfin's hair, rolled Fingolfin on his back in the grass, and began to ride. "This is my throne," Fëanor said, his hands sliding over Fingolfin's chest - then rubbing the nipples. He rode harder and harder. Fingolfin's hands grabbed Fëanor's hips and Fingolfin groaned.  
  
One of Fingolfin's hands wandered over to Fëanor's cock, stroking in time with the rhythm of Fëanor's hips and ass. Fëanor collected precum pooling with his fingers and stuck them in Fingolfin's mouth, his cock and channel both throbbing at the sight of Fingolfin sucking his fingers, enjoying the taste of him. Fingolfin licked Fëanor's fingers clean, licked down to the palm, and then he sucked Fëanor's fingers some more, lust in his eyes.  
  
Fëanor pulled on Fingolfin's nipples, riding as hard as he could. Fingolfin's free hand grabbed Fëanor's hair, yanked on it. Fëanor felt the pleasure building, pushing him to the point of no return. He let out a whimper, feeling himself about to explode...  
  
"Yes, brother. Come with me."  
  
Fëanor threw his head back and cried out, shooting over Fingolfin's chest and throat. A few seconds later Fingolfin let out a cry of his own, spending into Fëanor. Fëanor's orgasm intensified as he felt the hot seed spurt inside him, loving that feeling of being claimed... the evidence of their passion.  
  
Fëanor collapsed on top of Fingolfin and now Fingolfin was the one holding him as they kissed deeply.  
  
"It will be all right," Fingolfin said softly. Their noses rubbed, and Fingolfin rained tender little kisses over Fëanor's face. "We will get through this. You can trust me."  
  
"I do." Then Fëanor chuckled, needing a moment of levity after the day he'd had. "At least I know you're honest. That tongue _is_ a lethal weapon." They rubbed their tongues together before their mouths met again, hungry.  
  
"Mmmm, and I have something even better able to tear you apart than a sword," Fingolfin said, his cock stirring inside Fëanor once more.  
  
"What's that?" Fëanor grinned. "The way you state the obvious, like informing everyone my name means Spirit of Fire?"  
  
Fingolfin glared, and Fëanor stuck his tongue out. His laughter became a cry as Fingolfin bit his neck again.  
  
"You're going to get it, Fëanáro."  
  
"Mmmm, I hope so." Fëanor kissed him again, and moaned as Fingolfin rolled him onto his back.


End file.
